


I want to see the stars burn, after I've had my turn

by heavenisalibrary



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River had spent so much time putting herself back together from puzzle pieces of what and who and where she’d been, he needed her to know that he wanted everything, individually, all of her pieces no matter how jagged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to see the stars burn, after I've had my turn

**Author's Note:**

> This is Pam's fault. There's like two good lines in it and the rest of it is garbage. Sorry for your suffering.

River leaned toward him, or maybe she was leaning away. He wasn't sure. She'd stepped into him after his — admittedly, horribly bungled — profession of love, her shoulder nestled against his, her face close enough that he could smell her touch her _taste_ her, but he couldn’t tell what she was doing, or what she wanted. He ducked his head slightly, but she looked down, smiling. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the warm happy soft look on her face, it wasn’t that, because her expression was of the sort he could subsist off of for years of tragedy, and he tucked it close to his hearts even as it irritated him. It was just that she was here, now, and his, and she knew he loved her, and he knew she loved him, and he could smell touch taste her if he wanted — and he _wanted_ — but he couldn’t tell if she was leaning toward him, or away.

Maybe he was wavering. Maybe he was being unclear. He covered her hand on the railing, smiling at her, letting his face fall open to her in a way he seldom did, and let his eyes drop to her lips. But when he looked back up at her, her eyes were downcast; so he did it again, squeezing her hand on the railing, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The Doctor didn’t remember the last time he’d encountered River Song and she hadn’t kissed him on sight, often unexpectedly, often before she should’ve. Tonight she’d grabbed his hand to run, and held onto him while the ship was crashing, and she was curling herself into him now, like he might protect her instead of hurt her for once, but she hadn’t kissed him. Just on the cheek. Both cheeks. His TARDIS for a good, hard slap.

He leaned in, then. Maybe she wanted encouragement. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind that weren’t occupied thinking about River’s face and River’s hair and River’s eyes and River’s dress and the mesh cutout at the top of River’s dress and how happy she looked looking at him and how much he _wanted_ he knew that any steps toward communicating properly with his wife he’d taken tonight were being abruptly rescinded, but tonight had been a big deal. Not just because he’d seen River with her skin off — River at her baddest and dirtiest and most scheming, River who he clicked his tongue at but secretly thrilled over — but because it was all out in the open between them, now.

She loved him. He’d known that, of course. He’d always known that. He thought about that, sometimes. He’d loved her since before she was even born, literally. River loved so few people, he knew she was careless and rash and liberal with her love — those she chose to be hers were _hers_ , fiercely. There was too much love in her hearts to contain. So he’d known. Of course he’d known. But now he _knew_. And he loved her — and _she_ knew. She’d doubted, and it hurt him, ate him up on the inside in ways he probably couldn’t describe without crying, but she knew now. He’d told her, mostly. Maybe he’d summon up the courage for a proper I love you in the next twenty-four years, but for now, at least, looking at her, he knew that she knew and she knew that he knew and it felt like they were only just starting, now, after a couple hundred years of waiting.

But he leaned in, anyway — she didn’t lean back. Or maybe she did, and it was small, and he didn’t notice, but either way he wasn’t kissing her and he wanted to be kissing her. Maybe she was just basking in the moment. In the newness, in the warmth of the moment. And he didn’t _not_ appreciate it. He didn’t not feel the same way. It was just he wanted to touch and taste and bite and lick and kiss and hold her, he wanted to pull her to him and clutch her so tightly not even a thread of light could get through; he wanted to fold her into him until they were so close that their togetherness would be so extreme, it would eclipse all of the time-space distance between them that had caused them both so much pain in the past. He didn’t know how to tell her that, though. He didn’t want to ruin or cheapen this, didn’t want her to misconstrue his words; as much as he wanted to kiss her, he wanted her to know that the two things were separate.

He loved her, _and_ he wanted her. He didn’t say he loved her because he wanted her. He didn’t want her because he loved her. He didn’t know why, but the distinction was important. River had spent so much time putting herself back together from puzzle pieces of what and who and where she’d been, he needed her to know that he wanted everything, individually, all of her pieces no matter how jagged. He’d hold broken glass in both hands for her.

So he sighed through his nose when she finally stepped away, still smiling, and watched her as she took her seat at the table. His mind felt like a dog chasing River’s tail, but he reigned it in for the moment.

River crooked a brow at him. “You went through all this trouble. Might as well eat.”

“Don’t most husbands plan dates for their wives hundreds of years in advance?”  the Doctor asked.

“You’re not most husbands,” River said. “I wouldn’t like you very much if you were.”

He went to sit down across from her. He wanted to scoot his chair around the table so that he could sit next to her and press his leg to hers and hold her hand and kiss her neck and and and and —

The waiter came, thankfully not Ramone, and brought them drinks, and explained the prix fixe menu. The Doctor breathed in, and out. He’d never thought that telling somebody how you felt about them would make it feel so real — he loved her, and she knew, and she loved him, and it felt like a tangible thing in his chest, growing and blooming and making his hearts glow.

“Twenty-four years,” he said, the moment the waiter was out of sight.

River leaned toward him over the table, grinning. “That’s an awfully long time, especially for you. You sure you can commit to that?”

He reached out and grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it, but then he’d tasted her, and felt her pulse jump, and so he turned her hand over and kissed her palm, and when he heard her sharp intake of breathe he moved down to kiss her wrist, nipping sharply at the skin there.

“I can commit to _you_.”

“You’re very good at the talking thing, tonight,” she said. She sipped her drink with her free hand, watching him carefully.

He brought his other hand up to rest her hand in his palm, using his free hand to trail the pads of his fingers down the soft skin of her forearm. He couldn’t stop touching her. “Just tonight?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “You’ve had your moments.”

“The Pandorica,” he said. “Surely that was good.”

“And stupid, and reckless, and almost got you _and_ my parents killed. I never would’ve forgiven you that.”

“I have no doubt,” the Doctor said. Mostly, though, he had no idea what he was saying. He had River’s hand in his, her skin beneath his fingertips, her pulse humming at his touch. She sipped her drink again, he thought, because she wasn’t sure what to do, and he watched her lick her lips with great interest. He wanted to be that wine. He wanted her to swallow him whole.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know it was you,” River said, after a pause. She retracted her hand slightly, but kept it in his, turning it over and setting her drink down so that should could play with his fingers, tracing along his bones. “I mean — I think I did, in a way. From the first moment, I thought _maybe_ , but then I thought you didn’t have any faces, so I put it out of my head.”

“I kept trying to tell you.”

“I know, I know,” River said. She entwined her fingers with his, holding both of his hands on the table and giving them a squeeze. “I thought it would hurt me too much if I let myself believe it was you, and I was wrong.”

He blinked, trying to put Trenzalore out of his mind. He knew the feeling. Having no River at all was almost better than having her close but out of reach. “I missed having you around to save me.”

“Oh Doctor,” River said, leaning toward him and sliding her hands up from his, over his wrists, and beneath the edges of his jacket. He wondered if she could see the way he lurched toward her at that, or if it was just his imagination. “I’ll never get done saving you.”

“You’d better not,” he said. “I get into loads of trouble, me.”

“I know.” 

“You love it,” the Doctor said.

“I _do_ ,” she said, her voice low and flirtatious.

She just stared at him, then. Her eyes were warm, her brow furrowed slightly, her lips pursed just a bit at the corners like she was considering something. He hoped she was considering him. It occurred to him, now, that perhaps she wasn’t being dense. Perhaps he wasn’t being too subtle. Perhaps the problem wasn’t his inability to simply _take_ her — perhaps she didn’t want to. Perhaps, despite her feelings, she wasn’t interested in this face in that way. He thought he’d be fine with that, after a fashion, but right now he just needed to know.

The waiter reappeared with their first course, and while River chatted with him —  a little too flirtatiously, in the Doctor’s opinion — the Doctor used the cover of their voices and the lack of attention to scoot his chair closer beside River’s instead of across. He sat at a forty-five degree angle from her, when the waiter left. If River noticed, she didn’t let on.

“How many courses did he say?”

“Six,” the Doctor replied.

“Can you sit still for that long?”

He looked at her sharply, and she immediately looked away, down at the appetizer set before them, plucking something off of the serving plate and setting it on her own. She kept her eyes on her food, and in that moment, in her avoidance and in the context and in the mien, he pinned down the point of hesitation.

“I’m not just good at talking,” the Doctor said.

She glanced at him briefly, winging a brow, then went back to her food. He scooted his chair nearer to hers, now, more loudly, more pointedly. When she looked back up at him, he leaned into her, so that she was close enough to breathe in.

“I’m going to sit for these six courses, all the way through to the pudding,” the Doctor said, “and I’m going to stay put, relatively speaking, for twenty-four years. With you.”

“Sweetie,” River said, reaching over to squeeze his knee. The touch was like an electric shock, but the roll of her eyes and slight condescension in her tone immediately short-circuited it. “Let’s just eat dinner.”

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying, all night?”

River set down her silverware and turned to face him fully, and her expression knocked the breath out of him. She looked caught between angry and scared — the corners of her eyes were pinched, her brow furrowed, her lips tight. He could see her throat work as she swallowed, combatting the red that was beginning to rim around her eyes, but she still thrust her chin forward, defiant of her own transparency, maybe, because she knew that he knew her and that he could see her. Maybe that’s why, this time, she didn’t try to hide.

“What exactly have you been saying?” River said. “Because I’ve been saying an awful lot, more than I ever intended to say to your face, and then you bring me here, to all of this to — what? Wax poetic about a bunch of rocks? Don’t get me wrong, The towers are _beautiful_ and I’m thrilled to be here but I’m an archaeologist, you _arse_. I know the history of the Towers. I didn’t need to know their story, I needed to know that you —”

“River, of course I — that’s what I — I thought you knew. That’s what this all was for — that’s what this all means. I didn’t have the balcony built so you could admire the sunset — I had the balcony built so the sunset could admire _you_.”

She blinked rapidly and sat up straight. “Oh. Alright then.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

She turned back to her food, and it was the most anticlimactic moment of his life. He could tell she still had more to say.

“River…”

She turned to him again. “It’s just — it’s silly.

“Good,” he said, “I hate seriousness.”

“I’m not sure that line works for you anymore. This face looks quite serious.”

“ _River_ ,” he prodded.

“Could you just — could you just say it?”

“Say what?”

“Nevermind,” she said, turning away from him, and watching her do that felt like something being physically chipped away from his body. “It’s not important. This is lovely, honey.” She glanced back at him to smile, quickly, before turning back to her food.

“River Song,” he said, reaching out to slide her food away from her so that she didn’t have the polite distraction, “you have not for one moment in your entire life been afraid to demand what you want. Don’t start now.”

“This is different, you see. It’s not the sort of thing you demand.”

“Demand it anyway.”

She sighed. “I’m not demanding, but I’d just — I’d just like to hear you say it. That you love — just once, and I —”

“I love you,” he said, ignoring the way his voice cracked. The words felt rusty, like he hadn’t used them in hundreds of years — and maybe he hadn’t — and ached in the spaces between each syllable, because she found it so hard to ask for something so simple, something that he should’ve offered her from the moment they met. “And I will tell you again every day for the next twenty-four years if you’d like.”

She took a deep breath, all of the lines of her face smoothing out.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Doctor,” she said, failing horribly at pretending to be tough.

He could see how happy it made her — and that made him happy, almost enough to offset the anger he felt at himself for making such a simple thing something so coveted for her. He’d tried to give her the universe, her own life, her own family, her own choices, and he’d just assumed she knew he was offering her all of these things because he’d given her himself and found such a gift to be woefully inadequate.

“Can I…”

“Can you what?” she asked.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“I didn’t think that was really your thing, this time.”

“Kissing you?” he asked, a little incredulously.

“Touching in general,” she said. “Forgive me, honey, but I usually get a much warmer greeting from my husband. Might’ve clued me in a bit more quickly.”

“First of all, I told you who I was outright,” he said. “Second of all, you were in the process of murdering your _other_ husband, the one who commits a lot of murders — shut up — so you’ll forgive _me_ for not snogging you on sight.”

“So touching then — still okay?” She gripped his knee again, rubbing circles with her thumb that pathetically made him shiver.

“It’s been okay all night, you daft woman,” he said. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“We’ve just been over this,” she said, “what you think you’re portraying and what you actually are differ vastly.”

“I was just holding your hands a moment ago.”

“I thought you were, I don’t know…” she trailed off, rolling her eyes. “I thought you were placating me. Why didn’t you kiss me earlier? When we were over there?” She gestured to the edge of the balcony.

“I was _going_ to,” he said, “but you didn’t lean into me.”

“I was waiting for _you_ to lean into _me_.”

“Well, what for?!”

“You’re the one who changed, you idiot! I didn’t know what you were —”

He cut her off with a kiss, _finally_ , tugging her closer by the edges of her fur stole and scooting his chair close enough to hers that when he pulled on the stole, she nearly toppled into his lap. River steadied herself with a hand on each of his legs, leaning into him with a whimper that made his entire body spark to life. He wanted her, he’d known he’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her, dressed in red as bright and warm and deep and passionate as she was, but the reality of _having_ her and of — despite his initial confusion — _finally_ having things _truly_ out in the open was so heady that it took all of his self control not to pull her into his lap. Or would’ve, if he’d bothered controlling himself — he reached his hands around his waist, and combined with her eagerness to get closer, managed to manhandle her onto his lap, although he finally had something to begrudge the dress for; it wasn’t like she could straddle him, like he could feel all of her right up against him, in something so close fitting.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp, and he had to tear his mouth from hers to inhale, because it was all too much. The weight of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, the pound of her hearts beside his. He always thought that he committed every miracle molecule of her person to memory when he was with her, but then the next time they were together he realized even his most vivid remembrances couldn’t nearly do her justice.

“Sweetie,” she said, and it sounded like _stop_ , so he elected to ignore her and kiss his way down her neck instead. “Sweetie, the second course will be out any minute.”

“Don’t care,” he said, shoving the stole off of her shoulders and onto the table. He was sure it fell in her food, and hoped that made it clear where he stood on the matter. He fumbled for the zipper at the back of her dress, and she made a noise of surprise but didn’t stop him. “Is that device of yours a perception filter or a selective transportation device?”

“What?”

“The one with the — with the dresses.”

“Both, why?”

“If it was a perception filter, I was going to tell you to turn it off.”

She laughed, tightening her fingers in his hair so that she could pull his head back so that he had to look up at her. “ _Tell_ me? One usually asks a lady to remove her dress.”

“This me is bossy,” he said, “and knows what he wants. Besides, you haven’t been a lady a day in your life.”

“Awfully cheeky for somebody trying to get my kit off.”

The Doctor gripped her hips, helping her stand so he didn’t topple her when he stood up, and then entwined his fingers with hers. He walked away from the table, down the balcony and around the corner, so that they were hidden from the prying eyes of the waitstaff by a few topiaries.

“Just you wait,” the Doctor said. “I have a feeling that this face can make even you blush.”

“Doubt it,” River said.

He reached for the zip of her dress again and pulled it down, helping her to step out of it and focusing on her face as she spoke, because he knew once he looked down he’d be utterly useless for conversation.

“I’ve already ordered you to get undressed in a public place. We’re on a balcony, for fuck’s sake.”

River reached out to slide his jacket from his shoulders, her nimble fingers already undoing the buttons on his shirt. She shoved them off of him, and he perhaps would’ve felt shy, bearing his new, and markedly older, body to his wife for the first time, but in an effort not to gawk at her quite yet, his eyes were fixed on hers — and he saw nothing but love there, and acceptance, and joy, and an understanding that made the space between his hearts ache, because it was something he so rarely found. She stepped toward him as he awkwardly shuffled out of his shoes and pants, until they were both naked right there on the balcony, behind the topiaries. Through the leaves, the Doctor could see a waiter dropping off their second course, peering around with a shrug. River leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“You’ll never make me blush,” River said. “I wouldn’t have hidden us behind the topiaries.”

He kissed her through his smile, then, because he couldn’t not. He didn’t close his eyes right away, and saw her smiling too and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her to him, flattening his hands against her back and running them over her warm, soft skin. The feel of her pressed up against him made him almost tear up, and he was glad that he could hide his face against her as he pulled away from her mouth to kiss his way down her neck, nipping and sucking and leaving an altogether mortifying amount of red marks to make sure that she knew that she was his. He paid special attention to her chest, holding her to him to lick and sick at her breasts, one hand working over whatever one his mouth wasn’t, but while he wanted to spend an eternity worshipping River’s body, one thing he knew he missed about her more than just about anything was hearing her scream.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, and she gasped in surprise as he immediately went to spread her legs apart. He tried to lift a leg over his shoulder, but when she tried to reach for the topiary behind her for balance, and it wavered, she pushed him back and turned to lean against the balcony instead. They were hidden from the waitstaff, but as she Doctor looked at his wife, naked, stunning, bathed in the sort of light any director would kill for, leaning against the balcony, he realized anybody could see her if they happened to look up from below. Last generation, he might’ve balked. Last regeneration, River would’ve had to coax him into it; she would’ve had to distract him until he was too far gone to take issue — either he was already too far gone, or this regeneration was going to be _much_ more to River’s tastes.

He stepped toward her and kneeled at her feet again, helping her balance as she draped a leg over his shoulder. She buried her fingers in his hair again, giving him a gentle tug, and he laughed, pressing a kiss to the side of her thigh. She’d barely touched him, and he was only just getting around to touching her, and he was so hard he could barely remember what he was doing. He could barely think to do anything but touch himself. He was right back where he was twenty minutes ago, at a loss to do anything but think about how much he wanted to be with River in every way possible.

River tugged at his hair again, and he finally obliged her, leaning in and running his tongue along her folds. His cock jumped at the taste of her, and he pressed his mouth more firmly against her to muffle the sound of his groan. He loved River because she was the most brilliant person in whatever room she was in. He swirled his tongue around her clit, so gently at first that she yanked his hair in reproach, and then more firmly, until he heard her gasp and her thighs quivered. He loved River because she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, in two thousand years and change. He reached a thumb up to replace his tongue, working over her clit, and ducked his head further between her legs to press his tongue between her folds, stroking her outside and then inside and then further and further and further until he couldn’t breathe. He loved River because she was kinder than anybody had any right to be, especially after losing everything. Her hands tightened in his hair, this time from pleasure rather than irritation, and he gripped her hips to keep her still as she started to move. He could tell she was trying to keep her voice down, but her gasps had a sharper edge to them, as though she was biting back a scream. He loved River because she was borne of the best of him — his friends — because she was created and raised and trained to destroy the worst of him, but she did that not by killing him, but with kindness. With mercy. By showing him that all of the bad things that lived in him lived in her, too, and that she was still worthy of love. That she deserved it perhaps most of all. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her, and he was going to tell her over and over again until it filled in all the holes he’d dug by not saying it before.

When she came, her thighs tightened around him like a vice grip, and he relished the hitching sigh-shriek she let out, loud enough that the waitstaff most definitely heard, but quiet enough that they’d probably ignore it. He kissed his way back up her body, lingering to lick up a bead of sweat, or to suck at the pulse point on her inner thigh where he felt her heartbeats careening, or to make sure the fading mark on her left breast didn’t fade at all.

He pressed his lips to hers, not giving her time to catch her breath, and she wrapped herself around him, pressed back into the balcony. The feeling of her bare skin against his heavy cock was the best thing he could imagine, until she slid a hand between them to wrap around it and began to work him over with a firm grip. His fingers dug into the skin of her hips, and the feeling was so encompassing that he had to break away from her mouth to gasp, throwing his head back. It had been so long so long so long and even getting her off worked him up to such an extent that he felt himself teetering on the edge, but he didn’t know how to say — didn’t know if he _could_ say it because she felt so good so good so good, and she ducked her head beneath his chin to lick at the side of his neck, and then suck on the skin of his shoulder, her spare hand raking over his shoulders with her nails and her hand wrapped tightly around him and he thrust into her grasp and gasped, and she bit down on his shoulder and he thrust harder and pulled her more tightly to him and it wasn’t what he wanted and it certainly wasn’t what she wanted but she was warm and soft and firm and bright and before he could pull away or do anything, everything in his body dilated and scattered.

River didn’t laugh at him, although he wouldn’t have blamed her, she just released her grip on him and rubbed her hands soothingly over his back, pressing soft kisses to his chest as he collapsed forward, supporting himself with a hand on either side of her gripping the banister.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed finally. “I didn’t mean to —”

“It’s quite alright,” River said. “More than alright.”

“ _Much_ more than alright,” he said, kissing her hair.

“I gathered as much.”

“Shut up. It’s been — it’s been a while.” He shied away from her glance after he said it, stepping away from her and looking around for something she could wipe herself off on, but before he could step too far away she grabbed him with her free hand, and made him look at her.

“For me, too,” she said.

He nodded, appreciating the reassurance, and leaned forward to kiss her deeply. When the broke away, she gave him a gentle shove.

“Now get dressed and fetch me a napkin.”

He snorted, quickly stepping into his suit again, and only stopping to snog his wife a half dozen times in the process, which he thought was quite the victory. He popped out to their table to grab a napkin, ignoring the waiter’s irritated look, and returned it to River so that she could wipe herself off.

“I’ll make it up to you after dinner,” he said, zipping her dress up.

She hummed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Hold me to _what_ , exactly.”

“I promise you’ll enjoy it,” she said, winking. He grinned, but his expression quickly fell away when she dropped the dirty napkin over the balcony.

“River! That’s littering!”

"It’s not like I could give it back to the waiter.”

He considered arguing, but it was his fault, and he didn’t exactly want to prolong the conversation of his somewhat embarrassing overeagerness.

“Shall we head back for the second course?” he asked, instead.

“I’m not sure it’ll still be warm.”

“I wasn’t talking about the food,” he said.

“Hmmm, Doctor,” she said, “maybe you will make me blush after all.”

 


End file.
